


Interlude: Get a Little Closer

by Raine_Wynd



Series: The Dragon Murders [3]
Category: The Sentinel (TV), Witchblade (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, Crushes, Developing Relationships, Foul Language, Friendship, M/M, Mystical abilities, Original Character Death(s), Pining, Spirit Guides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 14:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: A scrap of story that fits between "What Gets in the Way" and "The Night in Flames".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rhi for the brainstorming back when this was new in November 2008. Takes place directly after “What Gets in the Way.” (Also known as “oops, I discovered this on an old CD backup of my stories and don’t want to lose what I wrote.”)

_Mid-August 2003_

“Major Crimes, Detective Blair Sandburg,” Blair answered his work phone absently, his mind still sifting through the details of a multistore robbery.

“Blair, were you in a wedding a few years ago?” Sara asked urgently.

“Yeah, Jim’s brother’s wedding. I was a groomsman. Why?” The background noise, which sounded like a lot of sirens and urgent voices, prompted him to ask, “Where are you?”

“4th  and Thompson,” Sara answered distractedly. “No, I’m all right,” she said to someone in the background.

“Ma’am, you were the driver of the motorcycle that was hit,” someone insisted. “You need to be checked out for internal injuries.”

“Give me one fucking second, all right?” Sara said.

“Ma’am, you need an MRI.”

“Fucking hold on; I’m not dead or injured, trust me,” she told the unknown person. “Sorry, Blair. Where’s Jim?”

“In court,” Blair told her. “Narcotics case from two years ago; my turn to testify is tomorrow. What happened, Sara?”

“Woman ran a red light and hit me,” Sara said flatly. “Her passenger’s DOA. Don’t recognize him, but the driver’s related to someone I know. Jim’s brother – Steven, right? We met once, I think. Poker game at the loft a few weeks ago.”

“Right,” Blair said with a nod, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “Sara, what’s happened with Lisa Ellison?”

“She’s – No, I’m fine, I’m wearing Kevlar, okay? Detective Pezzini, Major Crimes. Wait a goddamned minute, I’m trying to find out who the driver is, okay? Damn EMT, I’m not the one who’s dying – She’s being taken to Cascade General.”

“I’ll get a hold of Steven,” Blair said. “You okay, Sara?”

“Not a scratch,” Sara assured him. “Armor’s a good thing. Okay, fine, I’ll get myself checked out at the hospital, but I’m telling you, I’m fine. Blair, pick me up at Cascade General, okay? Sheez, damn fucking paperwork. EMTs are insisting I might need an MRI. Transfer me to the captain?”

Blair transferred the call, then rewound the conversation. _Oh shit,_ he thought. _Motorcycle versus car usually means car wins. ‘Armor’ – the Witchblade protected her, which means no one will believe she walked away from it, which means I’m about two minutes away from having to –_

“Sandburg! My office! Now!” Simon bellowed.

Blair sighed resignedly and moved to follow his captain’s order.

“Close the door,” Simon directed. “You’ll meet Pezzini, so we’ll dispense with you asking permission and consider it approved. Make sure she gets herself checked out by an EMT for the paperwork. Accident’s at 4th and Thompson, in case she’s still there.”

“She told me before I transferred her to you she was going to the hospital, just to be sure she was OK.” Simon nodded, looking relieved. “Anything else, sir?” Blair asked cautiously. That look on Simon’s face meant he was working through a thorny problem.

“She’s not a Sentinel, is she?”

 _Oh, shit_ , Blair thought. “You saw what happened last time there was another Sentinel in Jim’s territory,” Blair pointed out.

“You have your own place; Jim can’t throw you out.” Simon’s gaze narrowed. “Did she tell you about the bracelet she wears?”

Blair hesitated, unsure how much he could say. More than a captain, Simon had long ago become a friend. Yet Blair knew Sara’s secret wasn’t his to share. If he said anything more, Simon could easily worm out the truth, and that wouldn’t help Sara at all. Blair shuddered at the memory of how hard it had been to get Sara to trust him; Blair never wanted to betray that trust.

“Damn it, Sandburg, she showed me it could turn her into a sword-wielding knight, said that was how she saved Rafe at Ravensgate back in May. I need to know what it can do besides make her a target and psychic.”

“Make her bulletproof and immortal,” Blair admitted. “She said she hit by a car while on her motorcycle. I’d have to verify what happened, but anyone not her would be in ICU fighting for their lives if they survived.” Blair took a breath and released it, deciding against mentioning that he thought Jim had a crush on Sara.

“I need no more magnets for weird,” Simon grumped.

“Too late,” Blair told him honestly. “Weird shit happens in this city. We’re on the mayor’s speed dial for taking care of weird shit, like that mother whose kid turned her in for counterfeiting money and ID cards. Statistically speaking, we’re—”

“Wasting my time,” Simon interrupted and then sighed. “Go on, get out of here. If Pezzini’s as okay as she sounded on the phone, make sure she knows to report when you two come back. She was wearing full gear?”

“Always does,” Blair confirmed. “She’s been riding motorcycles since she was a teenager. Her jacket and pants have Kevlar in them.”

“That’ll give us plausible deniability,” Simon said. “I’d still like to speak to her when you get back.”

Nodding, Blair exited Simon’s office, grabbed his cell phone, and headed to meet Sara.

On the off chance that she’d argued her way out of a trip to the hospital, Blair detoured past the accident scene, which was still being cleared. A tow truck was hitching up the small sedan, with its crumpled front bumper. Pieces of Sara’s motorcycle were still scattered across the roadway, and an accident investigator was busy photographing the scene. A chill shivered through Blair; the scene had the surreal feel of an horrific accident.

A glance around the scene told him that Sara was nowhere around, so Blair headed for the hospital. While on the way to the hospital, he dialed Steven’s work number.

“Ellison Industries, Steven Ellison’s desk, this is Tracey, how can I help you?” a pleasant female voice asked crisply.

“Tracey, this is Blair, how are you?”

“Oh, hello, Blair,” Tracey said warmly. “I’m good. Did you need me to get Steven over to his brother’s for dinner again?”

“No, though it wouldn’t hurt to remind him it’s his turn,” Blair said with a smile, aware that as Steven’s executive assistant, Tracey’s job description extended into managing his personal appointment calendar. “Actually, I’m calling with bad news. Is Steven available?”

“He’s meeting with a client,” Tracey told him. “How bad is it?”

For a heartbeat, Blair debated on whether to deliver the news himself. Time, however, was something he didn’t have, not if he was to meet Sara. Then again, Steven’s temper was a match for Jim’s, and Blair didn’t need a repeat of Steven’s recent DUI arrest. If Tracey delivered the news for him, she might mitigate any impulsiveness Steven might have.

“Lisa was in a car accident; she hit a motorcycle. She’s at Cascade General right now and from what I heard, it doesn’t look good for her. I’m on my way there now; the motorcyclist she hit is a friend of mine. Steven met her at a poker game a few weeks ago – Sara Pezzini.”

“Damn, I remember him saying he liked Sara; said he rarely met a woman who was such a card shark. I’ll tell him. He’s not fond of Lisa right now but she has no one else,” Tracey decided. “He might not want to deal with her, but I’ll let him decide. Your cell number is 555-5555, right?”

“Yes, and Jim’s in court, in case Steven asks.”

“Oh, hang on, Steven’s out of his meeting,” Tracey said, and Blair heard the hold music.

When the line was picked up again, it was Steven. “Blair, is Sara okay? Is Lisa dead?”

“Sara’s tougher than she looks, but I don’t know about Lisa.”

“Fuck,” Steven said. “I still care for her. Damn it.” Steven paused before asking, “Do you think I should go see her?”

“Only if you think she’s worth it,” Blair replied honestly.

“No, I meant Sara.”

Startled, Blair blurted, “She’s not hurt, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just a little shaken up, and I’m headed over to pick her up.”

“Oh. Were you thinking I would see Lisa? As of two days ago, she’s no longer my wife, and what she did isn’t anything I’m willing to forgive.”

“I thought she might still be on your insurance,” Blair offered cautiously.

Steven snorted. “I made sure I changed that after I found out she was cheating on me. When you talk to Sara, would you mention I would be interested in getting to know her better?”

“Nu-uh, not going to be your middleman,” Blair said hastily. “I will warn you – she’s still nursing a broken heart, and you shouldn’t be looking for someone new just yet, Steven. Give yourself a little more time.”

“I suppose I should call the hospital, make sure Lisa doesn’t charge my insurance,” Steven mused. “I wouldn’t put it past her or the hospital staff to assume since her last name hasn’t changed, she still is on my insurance.” Abruptly business-like, Steven said, “Thanks for head’s up, Blair. I’ll see you at dinner on Saturday.”

“See you then.” Disconnecting the line, Blair continued to drive to the hospital, wondering as he did how serious Steven was about his interest in Sara. Steven tended not to look past face value in people. Sara had secrets she was unwilling to share; Blair bet it would be long time before she revealed them to someone like Steven.


	2. Chapter 2

As Blair had expected, Sara was waiting for him in the ER waiting room. Her motorcycle jacket looked scratched and torn. Given that she had a plastic bag in the seat beside her, next to her battered and scratched helmet, Blair surmised the protective overpants she wore when she rode were in the bag. To his surprise, Brian Rafe, her police partner, was with her.

“Look who I picked up,” Sara greeted Blair, grinning.

“You sure he’s housebroken, Pez?” Blair teased her.

“Hey, I’m tamer than Ellison, and I clean up better,” Rafe shot back. “You used to resemble a refugee from God knows where.”

“Once a neo-hippie witchdoctor punk, always a neo-hippie witchdoctor punk,” Blair said proudly. “I camouflage myself better these days. What are you doing here?”

Rafe chuckled. “Doctor appointment for a last follow-up on my chest and ribs.” At Blair’s inquiring look, he added, “I’m all healed and in the clear. Was headed out to the bus stop when I saw Sara here. Catch a ride with you back to the station?”

“Sure, but I need to check on –”

“The driver of the vehicle that hit me,” Sara finished. “They won’t tell you, Blair; the new patient privacy rules won’t let them.” Her eyes went unfocused for a moment, and Blair saw the bracelet on her wrist expand slightly, turning into a larger cuff. “It won’t be pretty.”

“Not pretty in what way?” Rafe wondered. “What are you seeing?”

His words confirmed that Rafe knew about the Witchblade. Relief that he would not have to hide that secret flooded through Blair; he had worried she would not tell Rafe what her enhanced abilities were.

“Trouble for Steven, maybe for Jim too.” She grimaced. “Is Steven coming here?”

Blair shook his head. “No. He was more concerned about you.”

Sara’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, no.”

“Is that a problem?” Rafe interjected.

“Um, maybe,” Sara hedged, and carefully did not look at either man.

Blair perceived the Witchblade had shown her a potential future, one that Sara did not like. Her next words confirmed it. “He can’t be with me as a lover. He can’t give me what I need.”

“Well, that’s a problem that’s easily solved,” Rafe reminded her. “Tell him you’re not interested.”

“Not yet; he’ll need me,” Sara said, then bit her lip.

Rafe looked at Blair, anxious, and just as unwilling to press his partner. Tactfully, Blair offered, “We should get out of here; Captain Banks wants to see Sara and me in his office when we get back. Sara, do you have any paperwork that shows you got checked out?”

Looking relieved at the change of subject, Sara lifted the plastic bag. “Right here.”

* * *

“Steven? What are you doing here?” Jim asked as he stepped out of the courtroom. Automatically, Jim assessed his younger brother, taking in the way Steven was doing a decent job of the Ellison stiff upper lip, projecting the calm only a Sentinel could sense was a façade. Possibilities spun out, and not for the first time Jim cursed his experience as a cop and a Ranger – he knew all too precisely the things that could make a man try to hold it together while falling apart inside. More to the point, he had Steven’s fear and bravado imprinted on his senses from the case that had brought them together after fifteen years’ distance. Jim’s heart leapt into his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, grabbing Steven’s shoulders, and muscling them to a private corner of the suddenly too public hallway with its mass of humanity who seemed all too interested in them. Recognizing the crowd lacked anything better to focus on, Jim dismissed them from his mind and centered his attention on his brother.

Steven said nothing for a long moment. Taking a deep breath, he let it out as he marveled, “I still love that bitch. I didn’t want her dead. So why the fuck am I grieving?”

“What?” Shocked, Jim stared at Steven. “What happened?” He took another look at his brother. “On second thought, let’s leave. You can tell me at the loft.” Taking Steven’s silence for assent, he steered them out of the courthouse and into his truck.

Once in Jim’s loft, Steven waved off the offer of a beer with a grimace. “Just the memory of that last hangover I had kills any interest I have,” he said as he sank into the couch.

Opting for a glass of juice, Jim then moved to sit opposite his brother, pulled off the tie he’d worn to court and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. “What happened, Stevie?”

Rising to his feet, Steven paced the living room before sighing. “I don’t know what’s worse, finding out who she hit or that she was high and not wearing a seatbelt when she sailed through a red light and hit a motorcyclist.”

Dread sunk into his gut as he suspected he knew who the motorcyclist was, remembering Sara telling him that with the Witchblade, little was coincidence. “Steven?”

The younger man just shook his head. “Lisa’s dead, and she killed her passenger, too.”

“Oh, God.”

“I want to be mad, but I can’t,” Steven said, raw. “She was speeding, high on some drugs, and killed herself and the idiot who was dumb enough to climb into a car with her behind the wheel. I stopped riding with her when I discovered how fast she liked to drive. It’s amazing she didn’t kill Sara, too.”

“How did you find this out?” Their father had drummed certain lessons too deeply into them; not crying in the face of pain was the oldest lesson they’d ever learned. Still, his heart ached to see his little brother hurting.

Steven took a deep breath and let it out. “Blair called me to say that Lisa had been in a car accident, that she had hit Sara while Sara was on her motorcycle. I was more concerned about whether Sara was okay than what happened to Lisa, but Blair reminded me that my ex-wife might have tried to bill my insurance. I called Cascade General to verify that Lisa wasn’t billing my insurance, and the person notified me that my ex-wife was on life support.” He stepped out of the embrace, looked down at his feet, then met Jim’s eyes. “I went to the hospital to verify it, just in case the person I spoke to was wrong. By the time I arrived, she was dead.” He blinked back tears. “I didn’t want her dead, Jimmy, just out of my life.”

“I know. Come here; if Blair’s taught me anything, it’s that it’s okay to feel.” Jim gathered his brother close and held him while Steven cried, his heart aching. He had liked his sister-in-law, though there had been a few times when she had rubbed him the wrong way. Happy that Steven was happy with her, Jim wondered what Steven saw in her. Status-obssesed, Lisa had always dressed in designer clothes, and needed to be among Cascade’s upper crust. Both Jim and Steven saw their inherited wealth as useful in specific situations. Where Jim disdained it, Steven had embraced it after the property management company he had worked for had been exposed for having questionable ethics. William Ellison, their father, was still the president of Ellison Industries; Steven served as its brand ambassador and vice president-at-large. Steven kept a down-to-earth perspective; he, like Jim, knew what it was like to earn money doing something that had nothing to do with the company their forefathers had built. Lisa had been a social climber, determined to elevate her status.

“I hate this,” Steven admitted when he regained control of himself, taking the tissues Jim offered and wiping his eyes. “I hate that I’m expected to plan a damn funeral for a woman who cheated on me in ways that humiliated me.”

“Then don’t. She’s not worth it. Her father’s still alive, isn’t he? Let him do it.”

“Jim, he’s the local head of one of our biggest shipping partners. I don’t want to piss him off.”

“Then tell him what she did and let him decide if he will spend the money on her dead ass. You don’t owe her a damn thing, Steven. What she did was public enough that it won’t take much for her father to verify your story.”

Steven considered it, then nodded. “Is Sara okay?”

In reply, Jim pulled out his phone and called her, switching it to speaker so Steven could hear.

“Major Crimes, Detective Pezzini – oh, hey, Jim. How’d court go?”

“Steven and I are more worried about you. He’s here with me.”

“Have to go buy new gear and a new motorcycle, but other than being sore and tired, I’m okay.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you need,” Steven offered. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Steven, as generous of an offer as that is, it won’t look good for you if I accepted it,” Sara pointed out. “It’ll look like you wanted Lisa and her new lover dead.”

“Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that,” Steven swore. “Great. You’re okay, though? I saw the photos of the scene on the news; it looked like you could have died.”

“I wear fantastic gear,” Sara assured him. “Biggest headache I had was telling the EMTs I was okay.”

“I’ll feel better if you stayed here tonight,” Jim said.

“Blair already made me promise I would, just in case. I swear I’m fine. I’ll be there in an hour.” She disconnected the line before Jim could say goodbye.

Steven looked at his brother. “She’s not your girlfriend, is she? I thought you and Blair were together.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jim confirmed. “And yes, he and I are together.”

“You will not hurt him, are you?” Steven looked alarmed.

“No, and if I can help it, I will never hurt him again,” Jim said flatly. “Blair knows as I do that Sara isn’t interested in a relationship. She’s more interested in reestablishing herself here in Cascade. She needs friends she can trust more than anything else. Steven, she doesn’t trust easy; she has reasons not to, especially guys with money and power. A billionaire in New York offered to make her his private consultant. When she turned him down, he tried to have her killed, and nearly succeeded. If she hadn’t been wearing a leather jacket with a Kevlar trauma plate in the back, she would have died.” _Died_ , Jim thought, _given what she said_. Sara’s secret was not his to tell, though, and he was not about to enlighten his brother until she gave permission.

Steven looked horrified at that news. “Damn. And if I bought her anything – fuck. She doesn’t see you as a rich guy, does she?”

Jim shook his head. “You’re the one Dad’s picked to carry on the family business.”

Steven grimaced. “Some days it’s not worth it. If I’d known Lisa thought marrying me meant we’d live like the money would always be there –”

“You might have still married her anyway,” Jim countered. “You hope people are better than they tend to be.”

“Yeah, well, my therapist tells me I shouldn’t keep hoping people will magically change just because I want them to.” Steven shook his head sadly. “I should go home before I stick my foot in my mouth anymore.” He rose. “Thanks, Jim, for everything.”

“How are you getting home? If your car is still at the courthouse, I can run you over there.”

“Don’t bother; I have a Metro card and I’ll just take the bus,” Steven waved off the offer. “I don’t hate doing that the way you do.”

Jim cracked a grin at that, remembering how Steven had pointed out the fees for parking in the city had risen over the years. “Yeah, because you don’t have to remember to dial down anything. Be careful – the 410 downtown gets the bums who have no place else to go and ride the bus because it’s air conditioned. Most are harmless but sometimes you get one who wants to hassle someone.”

“Noted.” Steven smiled. “It’s not the first time I’ve ridden that route, Jim.”

“Can’t a guy look out for his little brother?”

Steven ducked his head slightly, amused at the reminder. “Sure.”

“Promise me you won’t take on making sure Lisa’s buried? She’s not your wife anymore, and she isn’t your responsibility.”

“Promise,” Steven assured him. He hugged Jim one more time before exiting the loft.

Alone, Jim blew out a breath. He had not wanted his ex-sister-in-law dead, but he was not sad over her death, either. Like Steven, his priority in this situation was Sara – and he knew he had to tread carefully there. She was quickly becoming an important part of his life. He did not want to lose her friendship. He especially did not want to lose Blair to a misstep on his part.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m tired but I’m fine,” Sara insisted an hour and half later, even as she allowed Jim to inspect her as she stood in the living room of his loft. Comfortable with her body, she had stripped down her bikini-cut underwear, letting Jim use his senses of touch and sight to ensure she was as fine as she claimed. Seeing a bruise in the shape of a wire where the side of her bra band would be, Jim pressed on it and she winced.

“Ow. Okay, so not there. Damn it, Jim, did you have to find where the damn wire popped out of my bra?”

“You said you were fine,” he murmured, stepping back. Jim had expected there to be bruising from the gear she had worn. The only indications she had been in an accident were on her gear, not on her body. He could detect the minute indications of her exhaustion; wielding the Witchblade to its fullest capabilities came at a cost.

“That was from this afternoon. Damn underwire crap. Last time I’m listening to some salesgirl in Victoria’s Secret.” She pulled on her jeans, sports bra, and a Cascade PD button-down shirt. “Poked a hole through my t-shirt too, ruined it. Had to borrow a shirt from Rafe.”

“Wondered where you got that,” Blair commented as he brought a bowl of rice and a separate bowl of stir-fry chicken and vegetables to the table, which Blair had set for three. “If you two are done, dinner’s ready.”

“Yeah, do you know when I can get my own? Be nice if I had one in my locker.” Sara washed her hands before taking a seat at the table; Jim followed suit but detoured to grab drinks.

“Check with HR; they’re the ones who issue that kind of stuff. Want something to drink?” Jim asked her.

“Do you still have that ginger beer you introduced me to, the non-alcoholic stuff? If I have a beer, I might fall asleep.”

Jim grinned and produced a bottle from the fridge.

“Grab me one too, will you, Jim?” Blair asked.

Nodding, Jim did so and took a bottle for himself, pulling off the tops before sitting down and giving a bottle each to Sara and Blair.

“How is Steven?” Sara asked, after they had commenced eating.

“Working through his grief,” Jim said. “But I convinced him he isn’t obligated to bury Lisa.”

“He might have to,” Sara warned. “If only to play politics.”

Jim grimaced. “You see that happening?”

Sara favored him with a look. “It’s a possibility. Depends on how firm and how blunt your brother gets with Lisa’s father.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Jim decided. “I leave Ellison Industries shit to my dad and Steven. Till then – how soon do you plan on replacing your gear and your motorcycle?”

“I can get it all done on Saturday morning,” Sara said. “And no, I’m not inviting you to help.”

“Not even to drive you to the dealership?” Blair asked, concerned. “Because if you’re thinking of just heading over to the nearest motorcycle dealership, you should avoid the downtown one and head up to the one in north Cascade, which isn’t on the bus line.”

“Why shouldn’t I go to the one downtown?”

Blair looked at Jim. “We could turn her loose, see if she finds if there’s truth to the rumors, or if it’s just a case of the local consumer news reporter reporting on a story of getting overcharged and seeing a pattern where there is none.”

Jim ate a bite of his dinner as he considered. “I doubt there’s more than what the 5-on-Your-Side team already reported. There’s been rumors for years of high-pressure sales tactics, of people getting charged for things they didn’t know they were signing for, like extended warranties with tons of exceptions that make them worthless.”

Sara contemplated the notion while she ate; both men noted the way the bracelet on her right wrist expanded and became a wide, filigree cuff. “The ‘blade says it’s just this guy’s idea of business. He’s a sleaze, but nothing we can arrest him for. He’ll go under eventually, once everyone knows what he is. But I don’t want to deal with that shit on a Saturday morning, when all I want to do is get a bike to replace the one Lisa smashed to bits. I’d do it tomorrow except I would rather sleep and wait until the weekend, when I have a better idea of how much her insurance will pay to replace my bike. I suspect it’s not much, given how many miles I put on the Buell I had.” She looked at them. “If either of you will take me to the good dealership, I’d be grateful for the ride.”

“We’ll both do it,” Jim decided, after exchanging glances with Blair. “Been a while since I drooled over motorcycles.”

“You ride?” Sara asked, surprised.

“Used to, back when I was working Vice,” Jim admitted. “Haven’t been on a motorcycle in years, but I’ve kept my endorsement just in case.”

“How about you, Blair?”

“Never actually had an endorsement or a motorcycle but I know how to ride. Did you ride in the snow in New York?”

“Yeah, until it got to be too damn icy to do it safely, but I rode nine months out of the year most years. How cold and rainy does it get here?”

“Rain we get here in the winter is the damp-to-your-bones kind,” Blair warned her. “You think, ‘oh, it’s just drizzling,’ but it’s a steady one, so if you’re sitting outside, you eventually will get soaked.”

“Noted,” Sara said, and turned the discussion to the upcoming season opener for the local football teams.

* * *

“I should get home,” Sara said later that same evening.

“You’ll have nightmares,” Blair predicted. “Why don’t you stay with one of us tonight?”

Sara hesitated. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” Blair looked at Jim. “Shall we flip a coin?”

“Why don’t you both stay here?” Jim countered.

Again, Sara hesitated, but if she went home, the Witchblade would remind her of how close she had come, again, to death, adding graphic details to the nightmares she knew would come. Sleeping with Jim and Blair muted the dreams. “Do your spirit guides sleep with you?”

“Sometimes,” Blair admitted. “Sometimes they guide my dreams.” He grinned. “Sometimes the wolf’s just a heavy weight on my chest, like a dog, reminding me to not take things too seriously.”

Sara took a shuddering breath. “I’m really not in the way?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive,” Blair told her. He glanced at Jim and caught his nod. “You’re a beautiful and strong woman. Jim and I are bisexual, but we’re also committed to each other. You in our bed tonight is nothing more than friends wanting to let you know you’re not alone. Does the Witchblade curl around you when you sleep?”

Sara nodded. “It tells me it’s the only thing I can trust. That it will protect me from the ones who will hurt me.”

“That’s not the only thing you can trust, Sara; you have us.” Blair rose to his feet and sat down beside Sara, pulling her into a hug.

Breathing deeply, Sara closed her eyes briefly. “I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight, and Captain Banks gave me the next two days off just to be sure I got rest. But I sleep better when I’m here with you.”

“We can drop you off at your place on the way into the precinct if you’re awake then,” Jim told her, sensing her surrender. “Did Simon give you any hassle about what happened?”

Sara smiled. “He yelled about having detectives who think they’re superheroes. His bark hides a lot of worry, but I’d rather have that than a captain who cares more about statistics and budget.” She looked at Jim. “You were right: his tolerance for weird is better than I could have hoped. What I don’t understand, Blair, is why he thought you were going to somehow be a calming influence on me.”

Jim and Blair chuckled. “He’s used to having me be one for Jim,” Blair explained. “The look on Simon’s face when I told him your gifts didn’t make you eligible for a Guide the way Jim’s did was priceless.”

“He added an extra day just because of it,” Sara noted, amused. “But I will need it. You don’t mind if I wind up sleeping through you getting up?”

Jim shook his head. “I’d feel better if you did,. You may have not physical bruises, but I can tell you are exhausted.”

“I can leave my key on the nightstand, so you can lock up,” Blair volunteered, and talk soon turned to getting ready for bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Something woke Blair around 3 AM, and he blinked his eyes open. The skylight over the bed meant Jim’s bedroom was never fully dark, so Blair’s eyes adjusted quickly. He tried to turn over and found himself trapped by a tendril of the Witchblade, which had reached out to curl around his waist. Swallowing hard, he risked a look over to Jim, and saw that he, too, was trapped by the Witchblade, which had expanded to cover Sara.

“Jim!” Blair hissed.

“I know,” came the calm reply. “She started having a nightmare and woke me. Tap the tentacle and it will move.”

To his surprise, Blair found it responded to that. “Hey, let her sleep without trapping her or giving her nightmares of what was and what could be,” he chided the ‘blade. “She needs rest. She’s not going anywhere; we’ll keep her safe.”

The Witchblade seemed to hesitate, then retracted to become an innocuous bracelet again.

“You okay?” Jim asked Blair.

“Freaking out but I’m okay,” Blair replied, shuddering. “Damn, that was like touching lizard-skin-covered metal. Felt like it had sheathed claws, too. Smelled ancient, too, but nothing specific, more than old books, more like something in a museum.” He took a deep breath. “You?”

“I’m okay. I quit dissecting what that smell was and just label it ‘the Witchblade.’”

Blair cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I don’t want to wake her up by talking more. Think you can go back to sleep?”

Blair took a deep breath. “Yeah. Give me a minute. Hell of way to know it likes us.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

Jim woke before Blair or Sara and saw that his and Blair’s spirits guides were in the room, as if guarding them. Nodding them a greeting, he made his way around to wake Blair. When Blair stirred, Jim put a finger to his mouth, then gestured to the spirit guides.

“What’s going on, guys?” Blair asked them.

 _We are making sure the Wielder sleeps peacefully,_ the guides said, in a joint tone that sounded as if that should be obvious.

“Right,” Blair said, belatedly remembering his request to the Witchblade. He had no idea he had compelled his spirit guides to help.

Deciding retreat was in order, he joined Jim in putting on a robe and heading downstairs.

Not for the first time, Blair rued the fact that the loft’s open floor plan meant that sound traveled well throughout. Jim led him out to the balcony and shut the door once he was through.

“You going to be okay? You used your shaman voice last night on the Witchblade. Or were you freaked out enough you didn’t even know you did it?”

“Damn it, no!” Blair exploded. “It’s one thing to know she wears that thing. It’s another when I pull shit like that!”

Jim arched an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t be obvious? That bracelet allows her to walk the spirit paths. The only thing that would make it respond would be something – or someone – else that did.”

Blair pressed his face into his hands, shaking his head slightly. “Hell, Jim, that means I have to be careful not to abuse that power.”

Jim pulled him into his arms. “I’m not worried.” He kissed him. “Are you?”

Blair blew out a breath. “Yeah, but I’ll figure it out. There has to be a way for Sara to get sleep without me resorting to invoking our guides – and something tells me this won’t be the last time she’ll defy death.”

“I wasn’t expecting her to mean that literally,” Jim told him. “I looked at the news photos when you were in the shower and someone else would have been dead, no question.”

“Sara called me while the EMT was trying to get her into an ambulance, thinking she was bleeding internally. And I drove by the accident scene. Her motorcycle was hit head-on.” Blair took a deep breath, looking at Jim anxiously. “How many more of those can she take? Even if she survives every time, I can’t see where it wouldn’t eventually wear on you.”

Jim looked at him with hard-won knowledge. “You find ways to keep on going, reasons to hope. She did say the ‘blade told her to come find us; maybe that thing wants her to succeed, in its own twisted way. And didn’t you try to get me to try some natural sleep remedies? I know you’re a little weirded out, love, but those natural medicines used to be your first-line defense for everything.”

Blair chuckled ruefully. “What happened to the guy who used to sneer at the whole spirit-path thing?”

Jim lifted a brow. “That guy was a scared idiot, afraid to love a guy who’d dive headfirst into danger just to save him. Took him a while, but he got better.”

Grinning, Blair kissed him. “So he did. Thanks, Jim.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Did you want to join us for dinner tonight?” Jim asked as he and Blair followed Sara back to her apartment the following Saturday after her purchase of a new motorcycle and replacement gear. While both men trusted Sara’s skill as a motorcycle rider, they had been worried about how she handled the new motorcycle, a Yamaha YZF-R6, and whether the fact it only had a few hundred miles on it meant the motorcycle had undisclosed issues. Her safe arrival meant their fears were unfounded.

“I feel like I’ve already been there too much this week,” Sara said.

“Steven would like to assure himself you’re okay,” Jim countered as he stood outside his truck.

Sara gave him a look. “What more questions can he ask me? Lisa was driving on a suspended license and in a car insured under the Ellison Industries policy. I’ve already gotten the calls from the Ellison Industries head of PR and its legal department, plus a check to cover the replacement of my motorcycle, my gear, and anything else I might need in exchange for not suing your family’s company.” She narrowed her gaze. “Please tell me you aren’t matchmaking,” she warned him.

He held up his hands. “I know you aren’t ready for that. This is just me trying to make sure my little brother gets his questions answered by the one person who was there.”

Sara sighed. “You’re not telling me the rest of the story, Jim.”

“It’s family dinner night.”

Narrowing her eyes, Sara studied him. “Will your father will be there?”

“Not tonight; he’s in Las Vegas for a trade convention.” Jim paused. “Not ready to meet my father?”

“Not if it means I’m also answering questions from Steven about what the hell his ex was doing with one of the corporate motor pool cars,” Sara answered candidly. “I don’t want to explain how I know. If it’s questions about me, Steven can call me; you can give him my number. I need time alone. Go home, Jim. Spend the afternoon making Blair say your name like a mantra.”

Blair smothered a laugh at the image and hugged Sara. “Thanks, I think I’ll make Jim do the mantra, instead.”

Jim waited until Blair released her, then he hugged Sara as he teased, “Now who’s doing matchmaking, hmm?”

“Doesn’t count if you’re already matched,” she tossed off, stepping back. Gathering her gear, she waved goodbye to them and stepped into her apartment.

* * *

Much to her surprise, Sara did not hear from Steven until after Labor Day.

“Hi, this is Steven Ellison, Jim’s brother. I hope I’m not calling you at an inconvenient time,” he said late on a Friday afternoon.

“Just finishing up paperwork on a case,” Sara said briskly, “but I can take a break. What can I do for you?”

“Let me preface this with: you can say no, but I’m obligated to attend the Cascade Club’s annual September Ball on the 20th. The tickets and the silent auction raise funds for the Children’s Hospital here in Cascade. I asked a friend of mine to go but she started dating someone who doesn’t like the notion of someone she’s known since ninth grade being her date for one night.”

Sara frowned at that image. “That doesn’t sound healthy. What are you going to do, sweep her magically off her feet when she’s known you long enough to figure you she isn’t attracted to you that way?”

“Yeah, well, Nora is hoping she can change this guy’s mind. I wish her luck, but in the meantime, I’m stuck. I have to be there because my family’s company is one of the larger supporters, and I’m expected to show up. I don’t know who else to ask; Jim suggested you might find it interesting and useful. I know you don’t know me, but I hope being Jim’s younger brother counts for something in this case.”

The Witchblade flashed on an image of the scene: a party in one of the city’s oldest and most exclusive social clubs, wealth, power, and prestige on display for all to see. It also told Sara that going would give her a unique introduction to the movers and shakers in the city, one she couldn’t afford to miss, and that Steven’s invitation came out of a genuine need. “I don’t own a dress.”

“Rafe’s your partner, right?”

“Yes, he is,” Sara agreed. “I take you know him?”

“We’re not yet close friends, but I know most of the people you work with,” Steven admitted. “Jim and I weren’t always on speaking terms, and when I came back into his life, I was a suspect in a murder case at the horse racing track I used to help manage. Jim helped clear my name and we figured out, with Blair’s help, that a lot of our animosity came from being set up to compete against each other by our father. It’s taken a lot of effort to get past that bullshit and be the friends we’re supposed to be as brothers.” Steven paused before adding, “That also means I know Rafe’s one of the best-dressed cops I’ve ever met, even when he’s off-duty. I swear I will break down and ask him to dress me next.”

Sara laughed. “I’m sure he’ll enjoy that.”

“If it helps my case – I swear I’m housebroken and I have all my shots.”

Chuckling again, Sara noted, “I doubt you’re a dog, Steven.”

“Oh, good, we’re getting somewhere, then.” More seriously, he added, “I’m not looking for a relationship. I want someone to talk to during this thing who isn’t looking at the zeroes in my bank account and who might give me a unique perspective on some of the folks who are there. I’m not Jim; I’m not the best at figuring out people the way he and you other detectives do.”

Sara’s smile faded as she realized Steven was the kind of person who took people at face value. “I’d love to get to know you better. I can always use more friends. Email me the details and I’ll get Rafe to help me find something suitable.”

“I’ll pay for it, since it’s my invitation; just tell me how much you paid for the dress, and I’ll reimburse the cost. Tell Rafe he doesn’t have to stick to cheap, either, if he can’t find you something suitable. The sharks will look at what designer you’re wearing and as much as I hate to say it, judging us both for what you chose. All right, what’s your email address?”

She gave him her personal address rather than her work one. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for accepting. I’ll send you more details in email, so you know what to expect. If you have questions, call or email me or you can ask Tracey, my executive assistant. I’ll put her number and email in the message too, so you have it. Have a great weekend, Sara.”

“You too, Steven.”

Rafe’s desk was across from hers, and he scooted his chair over so he could see past his computer screen to look at her. “Who’s Steven, and what am I helping you with?”

“Steven Ellison wants me to be his date at a charity ball on the 20th. I don’t own an evening gown, but he thought you could help, and that he’ll reimburse the cost. He said to tell you not to stick to cheap if you can’t find something suitable.”

“We’ll see my tailor, tomorrow, you and me,” Rafe declared. “I’ll set up the appointment. You can’t criticize something that’s made for you by one of the best in the city. And if that doesn’t work, we can hit the mall at the Southpoint Center; they have the fancier stores.”

“As long as we stay the hell away from Ravensgate,” Sara countered. “I almost lost you, and that was not something I care to repeat.”

“Like I want to?” Rafe countered, incredulous and offended. “I survived getting shot because the bullet went through the exact space where it could pass through safely, Sara. My ribs ached for weeks, remember? But yes, you worrywart, we won’t go anywhere near Ravensgate; I’ve learned my lesson.”

Satisfied, Sara returned her attention to the work ahead of her before an email reminded her of something else. “I was talking with Swinston in Evidence and he said the best pool hall is in the old Mercantile Building in Founder’s Park. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah, it’s about three miles from here. Do you want to head there after work?”

Sara nodded. “I need stress relief, and I don’t feel like using a punching bag. Used to shoot pool back in New York.”

“There’s parking behind the building if I remember right,” Rafe told her. “If you promise me not to drive like a madwoman, I’ll hitch a ride on your bike there.”

Sara grinned, aware she tended to speed. “I’ll go slow. You okay riding in those nice clothes?”

“I’ll change; I have jeans in my locker,” Rafe assured her. “Contrary to popular opinion, I own something other than blazers, button-down shirts, and khakis.”

Sara studied him. “Are you hoping to get laid tonight?”

Rafe flashed her a smile. “Maybe. Something wrong with that?”

She held up a hand. “I’m an enthusiastic advocate of consensual sex. I figured you were more into long-term relationships.”

“I am, but you have to start somewhere, and I haven’t figured out those new dating services yet.” He studied her. “Are you looking for someone?”

For a moment, the grief over losing Conchobar swept through her followed immediately by a sense of loss. She could have spoken up, made a move on Jim or Blair before they became lovers, gotten one of them as her lover. She wanted them both, though, and she didn’t want to be the reason they stopped loving each other. The Witchblade whispered that she would have them in time, that she was destined to love them, but she couldn’t see how that would work. She barely knew them, and she did not want to repeat the mistake she had made with Conchobar. Swept up with love and soulmates, she had failed to ask questions of his history, accepted his changes of subject when she had tried to press. Sara bent her head, unwilling to let her partner see how much she wanted something she couldn’t have. Swallowing hard past the emotions in her throat, Sara looked up and said lightly, “Just to scratch the itch, nothing serious. I leave the romance to other people. Having a soulmate isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”

Rafe studied her, his eyes missing nothing. “What was his name?”

“Conchobar. He was Irish, a musician. I knew him only a few weeks, but it felt like I’d known him forever.” She looked away for a moment, remembering how deep his love had run, how the ‘blade had shown her they had loved before in past lives. “He was gunned down by his so-called ‘friends’ because he refused to be the terrorist he had been before.”

“I’m sorry, Sara.” Rafe reached across their desks to grasp her hand briefly. “What do you say we cut out early, get beers and shoot pool? I’ll let Simon know we’re headed out and you can meet me outside the men’s locker room in say, fifteen minutes?”

Sara glanced at the clock on her computer, seeing it was after four pm. “Sure.”

The pool hall was a gastropub with separate back room for pool tables. Sara was amused to see that it had once been the hardware store in the historic Mercantile Building, and the pub owners had run with the name, calling it “The Hardware Store,” with themed drinks and food names to match. To her relief, the prices were reasonable and the food, while cutely named, was straightforward, with salads, burgers, tacos, nachos, and fries, including gluten-free and vegetarian options. The beer and hard liquor selection was also extensive, with thirty beers on tap.

“What do you say we eat first, then shoot pool? That’ll give us time to absorb the alcohol,” Rafe suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sara agreed as she set her helmet down next to her on the bench seat of the booth.

Sara followed Rafe’s lead and ordered the same things he did, which amused him.

“All right,” she said after they had taken a few sips of beer while waiting for their orders to arrive, “you promised me a while back to tell me why you don’t go by Brian.”

“I did,” Rafe nodded. “I hate the name; it was my grandfather’s, and he was an abusive bastard who tried to use his money to push people around.”

“You’re named after him?”

“First name only. Thank God my mother married someone and took his last name instead.”

Sara nodded in understanding. “My father was a cop in the same precinct; rules meant we couldn’t work the same divisions, but there was a time when someone would tell my dad how I was doing and how I was a chip off the old block.” Sara took a sip of her beer before she added, “And before you ask: the same bastard who killed my partner and my best friend murdered him.”

Rafe stared at her. “I hope you got him.”

Sara smiled in grim satisfaction. “I did. He’ll never stand trial; he died in a fire meant to kill me. Kenneth Irons tried to set a trap for me and it backfired on him – literally.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow and touched her wrist where the Witchblade lay. “More reason to appreciate this beautiful magic bracelet?” he asked.

The ‘blade reached out a tendril to touch his hand, and his eyes widened. “That supposed to happen?”

“Only to people it likes,” Sara said, amused, and the ‘blade retracted. “If it doesn’t like you, it’ll have claws on that.”

“Good to know.” Rafe saluted her with his beer as their server returned with their meals.


	6. Chapter 6

“When I agreed to be your partner, I didn’t think I’d be asking you to help me get dressed in something this fancy,” Sara groused three weeks later. She had already put on pantyhose and her makeup.

Rafe chuckled. The tea-length navy dress had a vintage lace overlay in silver that added definition to the dress, accentuating Sara’s curves. The dress had an underskirt, and its sheer lace sleeves meant Sara had to wear a strapless longline bra. Rafe had found her flats to match; she did not have enough practice in heels to make something higher worth the effort. “At least this way you know I have no designs on your body?” he joked.

She shot him an annoyed look, which he ignored.

“Bend over and press this against your stomach; I’ll put the hooks together,” he said as he brought the longline bra around the front of her body. “Wriggle it up and adjust yourself.”

“How do you know how to do this shit?”

“Prom, several fancy-dress parties, and for a while, I dated someone who was into renaissance fairs. I know how to help someone into and out of a corset.”

Adjusting her boobs, Sara looked at her partner, deeply grateful he had agreed to help. She did not want to intrude on Jim and Blair any more than she already did. “Seriously? People still wear those things?”

“Voluntarily even. Does the Witchblade make you remember things the way a previous Wielder experienced them?”

Sara nodded. “It’s weird knowing exactly how a corset would feel against my skin even though I’ve never worn one.” She took a breath, grounding herself firmly in the now as she watched Rafe unzip the dress and stage it for her.

“Ready?” he asked her, taking her hands so she had something to lean against as she stepped into the skirt.

His touch helped brush away the last remnants of memory. Reaching down, he picked up the dress and helped her ease on the sleeves. Once it was on, he zipped her up, tucking the zipper under its flap to conceal it. “When you get ready for bed tonight, call me; you don’t want to rip the lace.”

“You sure? It might be late.”

“I’ll be up,” Rafe promised her as he handed her the evening purse he had found to coordinate with her dress. “And honestly, if you woke me up, I’d still come over. Your bracelet might help you, but you’d have to tell it not to use any claws, and I don’t know how that would work.”

“Depends on how late it is; part of me wants to find out,” Sara said after a moment. Careful of snags, she hugged Rafe, who grinned.

His timing was perfect: Steven arrived a few minutes later to pick her up in a limo, driven by a chauffeur. Rafe took his cue to leave; Steven helped Sara put on the wool cloak Rafe had found her.

For a moment, the feel of the cloak transported Sara to another time – another Wielder on a Celtic battlefield, fighting against the Roman invasion, winter’s chill in the air, a warm wool cloak her only protection against freezing – but the flashback, like the memory of wearing a corset, was thankfully brief. Sara had learned that some objects triggered memories like that; they reminded her she was one of an extensive line of Wielders. Sara suspected the Witchblade liked to remind her of her heritage to say she was rich in history, even if she had little else. Steven did not notice her temporary lack of attention, too consumed with telling her how beautiful she looked.

The party went as Sara expected. Here was power, wealth, and privilege on display, the machinations of power whirring as people mingled and chatted. Sara caught whispers that marveled at Steven Ellison’s ability to find someone either to take pity on him or be charmed by him; the gossipmongers couldn’t decide which. Amused, she made the rounds, her arm linked in Steven’s, as he introduced her to people he knew during the cocktail hour.

“Dad! I didn’t think you’d make it tonight,” Steven exclaimed in surprise, giving him a polite but not close hug. “Sally told me you weren’t feeling well.”

The older man grimaced. “Damn colds linger when you’re an old man.” He turned sharp eyes on Sara.

“Dad, this is Detective Sara Pezzini; she works with Jim and Blair. Sara, this is my father, William Ellison, president of Ellison Industries.”

Sara shook the older man’s hand; his grip was firm and professional. Meeting him, she could see Steven and Jim in the shape of his face and noted that Steven must have inherited more of his physical appearance from his mother. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“You’re a beautiful one,” William noted. “Where have you been that I haven’t met you before?”

“New York City, working Homicide,” Sara replied, and watched the older man’s opinion of her slide from ‘pretty young thing my son found’ to ‘likely smart and tough.’ “I’ve only been in Major Crimes here in Cascade since May.”

“You the woman his ex-wife tried to kill?” William asked.

“Yes,” Sara said, and held her breath.

William patted her hand. “Better you alive than her. She was shameless.” His blue eyes, so like his sons, narrowed on her. “You be a good friend to my sons, and we’ll have no problems.”

“They make it easy to be good friends,” Sara countered.

William grinned abruptly, pleased by her response. “They have loyal ones too. Not like the sharks in this room, that’s for sure.”

“Takes one to know one,” a new male voice joined them. Sara turned to find a heavyset man with snow white hair step closer.

“Larry, you old dog,” William greeted, shaking hands with him enthusiastically. “As if you didn’t know how things work.”

Larry laughed. “William, you think things are gonna change at an event like this?” He turned to Steven, winking as he said, “Your father makes changes and then grumps about them like they weren’t his idea.”

“They never were,” Steven agreed, sharing a grin with his father. “Larry, let me introduce you to my date. Sara, this is Larry Richards, the president of the Cascade Business Council. Larry, this is Sara Pezzini; she’s a detective in the Major Crimes Unit here in Cascade.”

Sara shook hand with him, getting a flash of impression as she did so. Larry was a power broker, someone who connected other people to other people, honestly believing those connections fostered community and business. Only if someone brought a bad outcome to his attention did he act, but plenty of rumors swirled about who he knew and what he knew. Sara recognized he was not someone she wanted to forget and made a mental list.

By the time the party was over, Sara had been introduced to even more people, including the mayor, the deputy director of communications for the city, the heads of multiple corporations who did business in the city, and others who formed the city’s elite. Her head was spinning with names and faces and Sara found herself grateful for both the Witchblade and the Ellisons. William had a date, who was a contemporary of his in age, but who seemed utterly forgettable.

In the limo home, Steven asked her, “Now that you’ve met my father, what do you think?”

“He’s immensely proud of you and Jim,” Sara noted. Studying Steven, she asked, “How much of his temper did you inherit?”

“Less than Jim,” Steven replied. “I take after our mother more. Jim has Dad’s tendency to become angry as a first reaction.”

“Good to know,” Sara murmured. “Did I miss something, or did you father have a date?”

“Oh, that’s Lillie Meredith,” Steven said. “She’s been Dad’s girlfriend for about two years now. She does an excellent job of fading into the wallpaper, doesn’t she?”

“I thought I was just imagining it,” Sara murmured.

Steven shrugged. “He prefers it that way these days, I think. Someone who won’t argue with him in public the way my mom did, but it’s creepy. Lillie’s the former director of library services for the city; she’s retired now, and trying to get my dad to do the same.”

“But she’s happy with your dad otherwise?”

Steven nodded. “As far as both Jim and I can figure out, Jim would have Dad’s hide if he was mistreating someone. So would I but Jim could make it happen better than I can. Dad’s biggest problem was that he’d been taught that a man didn’t show his emotions. He thought that if he treated his wife well, provided her with enough money and time and resources so she could enjoy being a mother without having to do much of the hands-on mothering, his wife would be thrilled by such a lavish expression of his love.”

“But your mother left anyway,” Sara deduced.

Steven nodded again. “I don’t really remember her being around, honestly. She left before I was five years old; my memories of her are colored by old photographs and films. Sally Wong, our live-in housekeeper and nanny, was more a mother figure for me, though she clarified that she was not our mother but an employee of our father. Our mom died when Jim and I were in high school; neither of us knew it until years afterward. Dad’s worked hard on changing his attitude, but he’s still very much a product of his upbringing.”

“I see,” Sara said. “Do you think he and Lillie will last?”

Steven shrugged. “He’ll get bored. He always does. We Ellison men like feisty women; we have problems convincing them to stay.” He grinned as the limo pulled up to Sara’s apartment. “Speaking of – do you want to do this again, or something else? I go hiking when the weather cooperates, but it’s the end of the season for that. I’d love to see a movie with you or check out restaurants and museums.”

“I enjoyed tonight, and I’d love to do those things with you. I warn you now, I’m not much for fancy shit. If you can put up with that and want a friend, Steven, you have one,” Sara told him, meaning it. “If you need a date for something like tonight, I can wear this dress again or something else.”

Steven took her hand and kissed it gallantly. “Thanks, Sara. I’ll let you know when the next one is. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Sara headed up to her apartment, confident in her ability to get herself undressed without Rafe’s help. It was two AM; the charity ball had run on longer than she had expected. Still, certain Rafe was diligent enough to be checking for her, she called him – after she wriggled herself out of the dress and the longline bra. If the Witchblade helped her, that was her secret to keep.

He answered on the third ring. “Hey, Pez. How’d the party go?”

“Lot of influential people – not all on the side of good,” she noted. “No one I felt compelled to go check out right this instant, though.”

“Yeah, Jim took me to one of them a few years ago when Blair was out sick,” Rafe said. “We had to fight gossip about him cheating on Blair with me.”

“Does everyone think they’ve been involved longer than they have been?” Sara wondered as she hung up the dress in her closet and put the bra in the hamper.

“Pretty much. I take it you don’t need my help?”

“No, I don’t. Besides, it’s late and you live across town.” She hesitated, certain Rafe had meant the gesture as a friend, but needing to be sure. “Unless you were hoping for something more once the dress was off.”

“I like my lovers to be someone I’m not working with, preferably someone who isn’t also a cop or affiliated with being a cop.” He sounded wryly amused. “I don’t know how Jim and Blair manage it.”

Sara chuckled. “I don’t know either. At least let me meet you for breakfast as a thank you.”

“I’ll take you up on that on Monday,” Rafe countered. “I’m in the mood to be a bum and not do a damn thing the rest of the day, not even my laundry.”

Grinning, Sara replied, “Sounds like a fine plan. Thanks for the help earlier. Good night.”

“Good night, Pez.”


	7. Chapter 7

Across town, Jim stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Making love had exhausted Blair, who lay beside him, snoring lightly. Jim’s thoughts kept him awake. He should be happy: his lover, Guide, and best friend was committed to him, despite the temptation Sara represented. Jim cursed himself for wanting more. Hadn’t he learned by now not to be greedy? Was what he was feeling for Sara nothing more than a chemical reaction to her pheromones, easily dismissed? Or was it something more: some destiny-driven shit meant to test all three of them?

If so, patience was his ally. He had no desire to cheat on Blair; Sara would give him hell if he ever suggested crossing the boundary lines she had set. Better to wait and spend the time developing a solid friendship with her first and getting his changed relationship with Blair cemented than to jump into something fraught with more problems than he could see. Doing so would also give him time to plan how to resolve the problems he could see and research on how a three-way relationship would work. No plan survived first contact but not having a path to get to where he wanted to go meant he was more likely to react on his first instincts. Those instincts got him into trouble. For his own sanity, he needed to know if what he was feeling for Sara was just a reaction to her moments of vulnerability. Jim had always been hard-pressed to resist a beautiful woman in distress, especially one was as strong as Sara was.

Resolved, Jim breathed deeply, and closed his eyes. He had no idea how long it would be, or how many missed cues it would take, before his questions would be answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is relatively short - it was meant to be the introduction to the story that became The Night in Flames but I lost it and then I found it again. Naturally, after I'd written 90% of a new fic....
> 
> Comments always welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and constructive feedback always welcome - even when this fic is "old."


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